


What the fuck?

by CatrinHope



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Brainwashing, Chased, Gen, Hitmen, On the Run, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, escaping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 04:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8149093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatrinHope/pseuds/CatrinHope
Summary: The Winter Solider had broken free from his captors once before. He just hadn't been able to run away the first time.





	

What the fuck! It was the only thing he could think, on a loop. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck. He could barely see where he was going the world around him blurred and cloudy, he blinked hard, yet this did nothing to help only producing a speckle of bright white spots. He was running: that was one of the two things he was sure about. That and that who he was running from was trying to shoot him. There was shouting from behind him, men yelling incoherently and gun fire. He remembered gun fire. He remembered causing it, he remembered people dropping dead in almost perfect sync with the short sharp bang. He didn't want to die. But what did he want? Fuck if he knew. The world around him was still blurred into streaks of light greys and dark greys as he raced past. It was hard for him to see properly, with his eyes watering from the speed he was going at, and the constant shifting as the world twisted and caved in on itself like crashing waves wasn't helping. Unable to properly see where he was going, he slammed into a wall, unable to stop in time. His head banged hard against corner bricks, though his left arm seemed to fine after being crushed against the wall.

A bullet clipped the back of his neck and planted itself in the wall with a phut. He started running again, with blood dripping down his ear and his back. The world was now darker; a claustrophobic sense fell upon him. It wasn't until the world brighten into grey instead of brown did he make the connection he had been in an alleyway. He didn't think he'd been this confused beforehand. But he didn't remember what had been occurring beforehand. Nothing. He tried to think back, strain and reach back in his mind. The world started turning white as he tried to think of anything. He shook his head, squinting ahead, still unable to see. What had happened? Where was he? Who was he? That question scared him more than any other. He should remember who he was and he knew that at one point he had been someone, he just couldn't think who he had been. Come on, what the fuck! How could he not know who he was? He was him! Who was him?

He shook his head more violently, the grey world turned ninety degrees and hit him in the chest. His body started flying up the floating pavement, his hair being torn, his palms scraping against it as he tried to cling on as he was taken off his feet. He clung tightly to the floor as he hovered for a few second before the wall righted itself and he slumped ungracefully on the hot tarmac. He closed his eyes, the blankness in his head making the sounds around him ear-achingly loud. There were lots of people, chatting and yelling, kids screaming and laughing the sound of footsteps close to his ears, mutters as people passed him. This wasn't normal, he knew that deep inside, they didn't like what he was doing. He didn't care, he was too exhausted from- there was no gun fire. He pushed himself up quickly, making a woman behind him shout and swear at him. He turned round, staring up at the sky, but he couldn't see shit. But he definitely couldn't hear anything and given how long he'd been staying still they would have shot him by now. So where had they gone? Who the hell had they even been?

"Excuse me?" a sharp voice snapped.

He looked down at the small woman glaring at him. When he didn't move she pushed past him. He wobbled over the nearby wall and slid down it, panting. What the fuck! What. The. Fuck. He hugged his knees as he sat on the hot, sticky ground, still trying to catch his breath. Despite of how blurry his surroundings still were; he could still hear the horrendous onslaught of sound, there were no gun shots in the hubbub. They must have stop shooting given the amount of people. He sat more comfortable on the ground, cross legged. If he stayed here, he'd be safe from them, whoever they were. He rubbed his eyes pain gathering behind them. Had he hit his head? Was that why he couldn't remember anything? He couldn't remember doing that. Well he couldn't remember anything.

"Excuse me," this voice was gentler and deeper than the other one. He looked up and blinked, a man wearing thin black glasses was hunched over him. Did he know him? Did he know anyone? He must do, it would be silly not to know anyone. And yet…

"You're bleeding," the hunched over man said thickly, gesturing to the side of his face where the blood was running down. He touched his cheek with his left hand and was met by cold metal. He jerked his head away from it and stared bewildered at his hand. His vision was coming to but he still thought something was wrong with his eyes. His hand wasn't grey, he moved his fingers and light bounced off them glittering on the metal digits. He looked at the man who looked as confused as him. He swallowed finally speaking,

"I…I don't…I don't know where I am. Who…somethings happened," he stumbled over his words as if he had not spoken in years. For all he knew that could be the case. The man standing over him straightened up then slowly looked round before nodding. He pulled a large plastic device from his purple suit. He burrowed his eyebrows, purple seemed wrong to wear. How could he remember fashion tips and not his own name? The man was speaking into the device, yes that seemed right, he remembered others doing that. He suddenly felt wary.

"W-what are you doing?"

"I'm calling you an ambulance, you look hurt,"

No shit. It wasn't at all like blood was running down his face and he didn't have an arm. He felt under his black long sleeved shirt, and felt down his left shoulder. It was all cold metal from his shoulder down. He didn't know why the fact it was cold was so shocking. He guessed the lack of natural body heat was an unsettling thing to be where an arm should be resting.

"What's an ambulance?" he asked, the purple suited man just shook his head, smiling quickly, before continuing to talk to himself.

The ambulance, it turned out, was loud and flashing bright blue light that made him jump up in fear until the man told him it was alright. He also had to be assured by the man when two green suited men tried to put him in the van. They were different to the purple suited man, they looked less kind, stern and tired tight lipped men. He didn't want to be left alone with them. Still when the doors were shut and they set off the men did was wipe his face clean and ask him questions. None of them he knew the answer to anyway; What was his name? Where did he live? Did he have any family? Any close friends? He just shook his head to each of the questions, trying to keep his left hand hidden.

"Well unless you can tell us who you are, and your health insurance provider…there isn't much we can do. We'll stitch you up and drop you off at the-"

It wasn't like the other gun shot. It came from under the truck and was louder. It shook the van taking it off their wheels. The equipment littering the shelves above him scattering on floor but as the van tipped the bottles and bandages floated mid-air along with the two men who had been helping him. As they screamed in terror, he clutched onto the shelf above him as the van continue to spin. He was flung from side to side, his legs being slammed repeated into the side of the bed he had just been sitting on, the men toppling around him their pained moans echoing with the crushing metal as the van fell. Finally, it came to a screeching halt and shook once more making him falling onto his already bruised legs. He bit his lip and looked at the devastated inside of the ambulance. It was smaller now, the walls bent inwards. Bottles of medicines had burst open the tablets littering the floor and the stench of chemicals filled the air. The two green suited men were leant up against the walls as he was, only they were covered in a lot more blood. Behind him he heard another gun shot. He sat straighter though his legs still hurt. They had shot the driver. Who the hell even were they? He stumbled to his feet, but was too slow before the sideways doors were kicked open. These men were wearing black, just like him, though had a mask covering their faces. The one that stepped through the door looked familiar, despite his face being covered. Though it was hard to trust one who was holding a gun.

"Help," one of the men said feebly.

The masked man stepped over to the injured gasping man. For one moment he thought these black masked gun wielding men were here to help. The thought was put to rest when the masked man shot the green suited guy in the head, his chin lolling on his chest with a final groan. The masked man walked over to the other green suited man, who was unconscious, blood dripping from his nose pooling as dark red in between his lips. He watched wide eyed as the masked figure shot the other man as well. He fisted his left hand, slowly standing up.

"Ah so you can walk."

He froze, pressing his back against the wall, "who are you?"

"A friend."

He looked down at the bodies.

"Hey if you can walk out of here, then I won't have to shoot you."

"Some friend."

The man just shrugged. He stayed by the wall, some part of him believe that he could easily defeat the man, something told him he knew a bit about fighting. But he couldn't remember if that was true or not. He was also outnumbered and out gunned three to one. The masked man raised his gun, and he put his hands up to surrender, shuffling as best he could past the bodies. The two men outside also had their guns pointed at him, yet when neither of them shot he thought they might be keeping their word.

Why did he always have to be wrong? He felt a sharp pinch in his neck and in panic swung his arm at the man behind him. But he hardly got through the movement both his arm felt twice as heavy and he stumbled to the side under its weight, falling, his bruised knees colliding with the deserted roads. He started panting, the air feeling thicker. The fucker had done something to him, God fucking dammit, what the fuck was going on? He was so tired, but something would happen if he closed his eyes, he had no fucking clue what, but something.

"Wait," he mumbled his lips feeling numb and thick, "who am I? What are you?"

Their only reply was to tightly grab his aching limbs and practically dragged him away, refusing to answer his persistent, yet quieter questions before he was forced asleep. What dickheads.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hope you enjoy it! Please leave a review!!


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